After all this time and all I have done
where have I been and why am I the one?
In an hour glass of life that never settles,
the grain that never finds its way to the bottom
In what present and what past lies the hand
that turns and decides the time?
The many paths and infinite roads of direction
offer no protection, just insight and fear
Am I growing near, or have the signs that are chosen
leading to a collection of the knowledge to build an untrodden path
to the answer to the question?
The uncertainty of the future exists not only for truth
but also for the ability to decipher the lies
I find myself with opened eyes and the mind
to enter doors and close windows of unwanted grains
so that when the glass is tipped again there is an understanding
of the sand around me and the surface on which it stands